Lovino's reality
by friedegg
Summary: And now Feliciano was dead. The life sucked out of the fun loving boy's eyes. Forever. His heart had stopped and there was no one to blame... Except for Lovino. One Shot. AU.


And now Feliciano was dead. The life sucked out of the fun loving boy's eyes. Forever. His heart had stopped and there was no one to blame... Except for Lovino.

A drunk driver had crashed them. The two Italian boys, were on their way to a party. The potato bastard was hosting a New Years party, and had invited Feliciano. The only reason Lovino went was to make sure that his younger twin didn't get hurt. He had fucked that up. They had "crashed". No, crashed wasn't the right word for it. More like someone had crashed them... Lovino was driving. His nonno's* new sports car. He had wrecked it. Just like his life... And Feli's. There was no hope for Lovino. His twin was dead and his nonno was more than pissed off. He was fucking raged. He thought Lovino was supposed to be the responsible one. The careful one. The shadow of Feliciano's success. But no, Lovino had killed his nonno's favorite grandson. Lovino had done it. No matter how much he cried, and said that a drunk diver had crashed them, no one believed him. He felt alone. Scared.

All he wanted was for this nightmare to end. No... He didn't want it to end. He needed it to end. Now. He just wanted to go back to a week ago, before everything got so fucked up and complicated. To the stability of his old life. A warm safe pillow to cry into and a blanket to hug him when no one else would. He was dying. Slowly and painfully each day. Not as physically, as it was mentally. It was eating him up. Drowning him. Stealing all his air, and pushing him down further. Further down the tunnel, in which he saw no light at the end. Only darkness. The darkness that comforted him at night, when all he wanted to do was die. His true friend. It would always be there. Always. Even when he died. The lingering silence that came at night and every time he closed his eyes. It would always be there. And maybe that's all he wanted. Lovino wanted the air sucked out of his lungs, and his eyes closed forever. No regret. No guilt. No Lovino. Everything would end for him, and the world would move on, as of he never excised. There would be nothing, and he would be glad. He would miss none of it. Especially that feeling of knowing you're worth nothing. That chill he got every time someone said Feliciano, reminding him of his mistake. Or when he stood out in the cold for too long. Or when he were crying. The chill that came with depression always reminding him that no matter how happy he thought he was. He actually wasn't. It was a fucking lie. There was no more laughing at the Vargas household. Only tears. He could never be happy again. He didn't deserve it. Even though he wanted it. He craved it. As did every other living thing. To be hugged and cradled. To be told every thing would be okay. He didn't want to be this shell of the old Lovino any more. He just wanted to be dead. Was that to much? To slowly feel his life drain out of him?

Lovino sat upstairs alone in his room wondering what it was like to die. Tears streamed down his cheeks, albeit somewhat slowly, leaving wet trails of salt. Had Feliciano been in pain? Were his last minutes alive hell? Lovino wanted to know. Had he put him in pain? The Italian twin who had loved to paint; prodigiously amazing. To sing; in a beautiful tenor. Lovino had ended it all.

"You're a fuck up Lovino" he croaked out in a despair riddled voice through the sobs.

He cradled himself in an obscure manner. The world had crashed on his young shoulders, and he could only blame himself. He knew it would be any minute now. His grandfather come home drunk and would walk up the stairs in an audacious manner, and yank open his door. Then it would start. His nonno would yell at him and ask him why he killed his brother. His perfect younger brother. Even though he hadn't. He hadn't killed him. A reckless driver had. But it didn't matter how many times he said he was sorry...The drunken insults never ceased. He stood up and ran down the stairs into the kitchen. He picked up a bottle of sleeping pills, a knife and enough liquor to make him sleep forever. He quicken his steps ascending the stairs. Slamming the door behind him. He would finally end it. End the fucked up nightmare, he was forced to call his life. He slid down the back of the door. He uncapped one of the previously opened liquor bottles and let the liquid slid down his throat, killing everything it touched. Just like him. The young Italian coughed and wheezed as the liquid burned in his stomach, determination was in his vains now. He took the knife and jabbed it into his wrists. Twisting and Turing it metal. Now he was getting somewhere. He took another swig and turned the knife in his wrist. Tears steamed down his cheeks. His blood was all around him. Then he heard it. The footsteps of his nonno. Except the footsteps didn't give any indication that he was drunk. Little did Lovino know that his nonno wasn't drunk. His nonno had apprehensively skipped drinking today. He had, had a bad feeling. The young Italian took another swig. The blood loss was making him woozy. By now his nonno was in the hallway. He could hear the older Vargas outside the door. Little did the Italian boy know that his grandfather could see a pool of blood on the other side of the door, and it wasn't even a small pool of blood. It was a fucking ocean. The worried grandfather pulled open the door to see a drunk Lovino, stabbing his self in the arm, and once in the hip, furiously and profusely. Determined. His grandfather ran to his side and took the knife away from the now evidently suicidal teen. He pulled the boy to his chest, and dialed for an ambulance. His once shining light hazel* eyes looked dull, exhausted, pained.

"Nonno...I'm so sorry." The young boy croaked out through a dry throat.

"No Lovino, no! Why would you do this!" The older Italian cried out in grief. He wasn't an idiot he knew his grandson wouldn't survive. And it killed him to know that.

"I'm sorry for letting a car hit us...for not being the one to die in the crash. I'm so sorry it had to be Feli" at this, his eyes filled with crystal tears "If I could have picked I would have died.. And he would have lived. But don't worry nonno, I'm going to hell now...where I belong."

"Don't say that Lovino, an ambulance is on its way, you're going to live." He grandfather said, as he stroked the boy's dark reddish hair.

"No I'm not." Lovino said as he picked up the bottle of sleeping medicine, to show to his grandfather. It was empty.

"Lovino-" the young grandfather breathed out, just the the teen went limp in his arms.

With that Romulus Vargas cried. The strong Italian man, people looked up to cried. He clasped the frail body to his chest and the religious Italian whispered a prayer for the boy. Hoping that god would forgive his sin.


End file.
